


Bad Touch

by millygal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Handcuffs, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:19:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Trickster, as usual, puts a crimp in their day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Touch

**Author's Note:**

> **Autho's noter** : This is based on a prompt from [](http://wings128.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://wings128.livejournal.com/)**wings128** " _Ummmm... *peeks out through her fingers* ...this popped into my head as I was reading your post. You're welcome to do with as your muse leads..._
> 
>  
> 
> _Demon #574 (or the trickster) has captured the boys, has their right wrists chained/manacled to adjacent pipes and their left ones are handcuffed together. Sam's having to sit astride Dean's thighs to keep his balance and they're trying to ignore how good it feels being this close._
> 
>  
> 
> _Dean's snarking at the #574's snide comments about their not-so-secret desires. "We know all about you two." It's whispered against Sam's ear, but loud enough for Dean to hear, before it drops the handcuff key down the front of Sam's jeans._
> 
>  
> 
> _"I'm thinking, by the time you get free, you'll've forgotten all about me."_
> 
>  
> 
> _The demon leaves to do whatever it was the boys were trying to prevent and Dean's frantically tugging on the iron manacle, feeling the burn against his skin. The thrill of Sam's suddenly-wrecked voice slipping and catching on the vowels of his name fills his gut with the swirling warmth of inevitability, and Dean knows how this is gonna go down..._
> 
>  
> 
>  _*blinks innocently* Was that anything like what you're wanting? ;D_ "
> 
> I may have played a little fast and loose with a couple of the bits out of the prompt, I seem to have a first time kink, so yeah, but apart from that, all present and correct :) Hope you like.

**Title:** Bad Touch  
 **Word Count:** 4,524.  
 **Warnings:** Spoilers up to Season 4 if you squint.  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Dean/Sam, The Trickster  
 **Summary:** The Trickster, as usual, puts a crimp in their day.  


  
"Sam, Sammy, wake up."

His head's foggy. Too much Jack?

"Come on man, it's just not a party without you. Wake up!!"

Wait, no, it was the middle of the day last he remembered, "Huh...De..Dean?"

He cracks an eye, instantly regrets it, "Ouch. Shit!"

"Tell me about it!"

Three things are becoming painfully, horrifyingly clear.

One, he is not in their ratty motel room, sleeping peacefully and semi comfortably on his bedbug infested mattress.

Two, he appears to be chained to Dean. His left wrist to Dean's right. Manacled by some pretty hefty looking metal work.

Three, this has got to be hell, because only in hell would he wake up from a really fucking vivid dream about having his legs wrapped around his brother's waist, to find he actually has his legs wrapped round his brother's waist and his ass in his lap, "Shit, what happened, and why are we snuggling!"

Fighting the urge to throw up, Sam shakes his head, rolls his shoulders and realises his other wrist is pinned high above his head, and fuck, that's painful.

Dean shifts his haunches slightly and tries to remember it isn't just him that can feel the jolt of electric running from his frazzled neurons straight to his cock, "I know, you didn't even buy me dinner first, what kind of date do you think I am!"

Sam groans and gives his right wrist a yank, _sonofabitch_ , "Fuck, ouch. Seriously man, what the hell!"

Trying desperately to ignore his brother's breath gusting across his cheek, Dean screws his eyes shut and sighs, "We got jumped. Again! How many times have we gotta kill that son of a bitch before he actually stays frigging dead!"

"The Trickster!?!"

"You know anyone else we've been hauling ass round town trying to find. Cos if this isn't him, we got even more of a problem than I first thought"

Sam can't help it, concentrating on anything Dean's saying is tantamount to torture, all he can feel is his brother's hips digging him through the denim of his jeans and he is acutely aware that if he lets his imagination run away with him, he's gonna get himself shot.

Even cuffed together, both hands out of action, Sam's fairly fucking sure Dean'd be able to do him some serious damage. This cannot be happening, "We gotta get out of here, now!"

Rattling their joined hands, Dean quirks an eyebrow and grunts, "Ya think?"

Taking a moment to still his hammering heart, Sam assesses the scene.

They're chained to a set of pipes, right and left wrists respectively, out of complete action. Dean's is slightly lower than Sam's and he is still obviously capable of moving his fingers, so there must be more blood in his arm than there is in Sam's.

His right shoulder feels like it's almost out the socket and he's got a golf ball sized lump on the back of his head.

Sam is, oh god, wrapped round Dean. Legs hitched over his hips, crotch rubbing against his belly. Their other wrists are manacled together. Just enough chain between them for Dean to be twisting his hand and tapping against the top of Sam's hand. If they had a safety pin, paper clip, anything, they'd be able to reach the lock.

Well, he's imagined all sorts of scenarios where he might actually get to tie his brother down, this was not one of them. _Shit_.

"You're welcome, by the way."

Sam gives him a puzzled look, "For what!"

Dean looks down at their twisted position on the floor, "This."

Sam shoots for nonchalant, "Look Dean, I know you think you're god's gift, but I'm fairly sure you can think of prettier asses to be rubbing you in all the wrong places. What exactly should I be thanking you for?"

Dean chuckles and shifts position, sending Sam in to a frenzied panic as his cock twitches involuntarily.

"When I came to, you were out cold, and in danger of yanking your arm completely out of the socket. I had to slide underneath you to stop your, may I say, weighty fucking ass, from dragging it all the way out of joint. So, you're welcome."

Sam takes a minute to process the fact that Dean had intentionally slid himself beneath his unconscious brother, decides he may have preferred the hospital trip to get his shoulder shoved back in, but nods and smiles anyway, "Thanks. I think."

Dean's been wondering exactly what possessed him to manoeuvre himself under Sam in the first place. Telling himself it was simply to stop the pain of having Sam nearly break his hand whilst some nurse punched him in the shoulder.

Regardless of reason, real or imagined, he's been regretting it ever since.

Sam's a loud, annoying, mobile sleeper. Not to mention, god help him, cute as hell when he's not awake and fretting constantly.

The lines around Sam's eyes disappear, and he always has a half smile tugging at his lips. Lips Dean was so very tempted to reach out and lick while Sammy was out of it.

He's going back to hell. He's gonna ride the freight train straight down.

Whilst unconscious, Sam'd wriggled, mumbled, groaned and at one point, Dean's pretty sure he'd felt the stiffening of his baby brother's cock against his stomach.

That'd done things to him he'd rather not look into whilst chained to the giant lump. Especially seen as Dean's happy place isn't exactly a million miles away from where they are right now. _Crap_ , "You reckon he's ever gonna show himself or are we just gonna rot down here?"

Sam tries to reposition himself in Dean's lap and only manages to rub his ass against his cock, "Don't look at me, I just woke up in the deep south, where brothers hug it out!"

"Fuck off jackass."

That's when they hear it, from some dark corner of whatever dank shit hole they're in. Clapping.

A familiar voice calls out and Dean has to physically restrain himself from reaching out and throttling the little shit sticker.

"Nice avoidance guys. I'm impressed. Felt sure the minute you two woke up curled round each other like saran wrap, you'd be making out like horny teenagers!"

Sam wants the ground to open up and swallow him, right fucking now, "Why don't you let us out of these, see if we can't expend our energy on something more constructive"

The Trickster walks into what little light there is, smirks, leans down next to Sam and lets his lips brush against the younger man's ear, "Come on Sammy, we all know how you really feel. It's common knowledge. Demons can pick up on sin, remember, intended or imagined."

Dean bites down on the revulsion at having the demi-god's lips anywhere near his brother's skin.

_Mine!_

_Oh crapcrapcrap._

Dean thinks this might just be the death of him. He's either gonna rip Sam's arm out the socket himself trying to rend the Trickster's head from his puny body, or he's going to suck on the exposed flesh of his brother's throat, just to mark him as his own.

**_Crapcrapcrap._ **

"Get away from him. Get your filthy mouth away...."

The venom in Dean's voice snaps Sam's head up, almost breaking the demon huffing down his neck's nose, "Wha..."

Crouching on the balls of his feet, the Trickster slides a hand across Sam's chest, just to see Dean's eyes turn almost black. Leaning in even closer, whispering as low as possible, he grins and moulds the length of his body into Sam's painful shoulders, "See, told you. He's hot to trot for his baby bro, and you two think you've got the right to call us evil and wrong! Cheek of it."

Sam's over active imagination is arguing with his ID. On the one hand, the possibility that Dean actually might feel the same things about him as he does about his big brother, is a million to one. But, there's no mistaking the possessive growl slipping from Dean's lips and the way he's gripping Sam's wrist hard enough to break it, "Dean...calm down."

Dean's moments away from embarrassing himself in front of one of the most dickish demons they've ever come up against, not to mention shattering all his careful avoidance of anything remotely close to the truth with Sam, "Sammy, I'm going to kill him. I am going to bury my foot so far up his ass he'll be tasting leather for a week."

Standing and cracking his spine, the Trickster smiles smugly, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key, "By the time you two even think about coming looking, I'll have finished what I started and be long gone."

Eyeing the key, Sam watches, horrified, as the Trickster bends back down, lays a hand on his waist band, slides two fingers inside and pulls the fabric away just enough to slip the hand with the key inside, "What the fuck...get the hell away..."

The smarmy demon leaves his hand inside Sam's jeans long enough to hear an ear splitting roar force it's way out of Dean's mouth. Withdrawing, keyless, he stands, puts his hand on his hips and clucks at Dean, "Cool your jets sparky, he ain't my type, too much muscle for me."

Sam suppresses the urge to slice off his own crawling skin, and shoots Dean a warning look, "You're just gonna let us go. Give us the key? Why!"

"Because Sammy, as I've tried to teach you before, I know better than you two. I can almost guarantee that I can finish the ritual, get the hell outta dodge and be well on my way to cocktails with models before you two have even come up for air."

Twisting his wrist, the Trickster clicks his fingers and vanishes.

"Dean, Dean, you okay?"

Dean's not hearing Sam, he's not seeing anything but red. He can't suppress the rage creeping up his spine, he can hear the blood rushing past his heart, a heart that's beating so fast he thinks it might actually thumpthumpthump out of his chest.

"Dean, come on man, you gotta get it together. We got the key, it's just..." Looking down at himself, Sammy is suddenly very aware of where the key is, very very aware that the only way to retrieve it is to put their cuffed hands down the front of his trousers. _Fuck._

"Dean, I gotta, I'm gonna have to...Just, don't punch me, 'kay!"

Dean shakes his head, tries clearing the jealous mist out of his head, "I'm fine Sam, just, get on with it"

Shifting as far back as he can, sliding his ass a little further down Dean's thighs, Sam strains and stretches, pushing his crotch tighter into Dean's stomach. Manoeuvring their joined hands, Sam grunts as his incapacitated shoulder protests.

Finally managing to get their two hands inside his trousers, Sam stifles a groan as the metal of the cuffs and Dean's calloused fingers come into contact with his rapidly hardening cock. He's gonna end up dead, dead with no way out. Deans gonna...

 _Oh_.

Sam's pretty fucking sure he's unconscious again, because Dean isn't grimacing, or turning away, he isn't shouting disgusted barbs at his sick little brother.

He's licking his lips, he's watching their buried hands inside Sam's trousers, he's having a hard time not panting and god help them both, Sam can feel him hardening against his ass, "Dean..."

Dean doesn't think, he doesn't even try to think about what will happen, because right now, all he can concentrate on is the feel of Sam's warm, soft skin against the palm of his hand.

Yep, most definitely a punched ticket to the pit.

Closing his hand around the base of Sam's cock, key completely forgotten, Dean looks Sam straight in the eye as he tightens his grip and strokes him once. One hard, rough jerk of his fist, never breaking eye contact.

Sam's not hallucinating, even if the small amount of blood still rushing round his upstairs brain is very quickly draining elsewhere, "Holy mother of fuck."

Dean's voice is raw, breathy, strained, "Sammy, I..."

The pressure lets up and Sam's absolutely certain that he will die if Dean removes his hand from his cock. He will come apart at the seams and never be able to glue himself back together, "Don't...don't stop."

Dean moves like a coiled snake, striking with no warning. Tightening his fist round Sam's cock, almost to the point of pain, he throws himself forward slamming his lips against Sam's. He moves so fast and they're both so off centre that he almost drags Sam's shoulder the rest of the way out of joint.

"Owww, shit, Dean wait."

Rejection washes over Dean and Sam mentally kicks himself. Dean scrambles backwards, shoving and pushing at Sam's legs wrapped round him while Sam rushes to reassure him, "No, no, Dean, not that....We need out these cuffs, now! You gotta let me get the key."

Steadying himself, fighting the urge to run, despite the impossibility of it, Dean stills, lets Sam fish around for the key and practically sobs with relief when his brother pulls their hands free, holding the key to the cuffs.

Sam leans up, undoes his own wrist first, thinking a little blood in his extremities is probably a good thing right now. He bites down on the urge to cry out as his shoulder twists back into it's proper position and goes at Dean's wrist, almost fumbling and dropping the key.

Dean's normal capacity to think straight has up and fucked off on him. All he can see is Sam. His lips, his eyes, the blood thrumming through his pulse point. The warmth of him between Dean's thighs. The way every little movement is doing delicious things to his restrained cock.

Dean's not thinking now, not with anything resembling his upstairs brain. God blessed man with two brains and not enough blood to run both, right now, Dean's well past the point of no return and any conscious thought is purely perfunctory.

Sam finally manages to free Dean's wrist from the pipes. Dean pounces, shoves forward so hard Sam ends up on his back, left hand still cuffed to his brother's right.

Dean takes advantage of Sam's legs already being round him and grinds himself against Sam's cock causing Sam to arch and slam his head into the floor.

Sam sees the exact moment that Dean's sense of self preservation kicks in, he's been waiting for it, knowing what it'll take to get Dean to throw down and admit what exactly they've both been running from for the last four years.

Dean tries to pull away but they're still cuffed and Sam's not gonna let him back out now, not when every strained daydream and fevered nighttime imagining he's ever had is about to come true.

Years of laying side by side in the impala, praying he hasn't shouted his brother's name out in his sleep, years of watching Dean parade around in motel rooms in nothing but a towel. Four years of desperately wanting to lick the sweat from his brothers shoulder blades after every single hunt.

Hell no, he isn't getting away that easy.

Sam hauls there joined wrists above his head, pulling Dean tight against his chest, squeezes his legs round Dean's waist and thrusts himself up into his stomach, "Dean, don't you dare!"

Even as Dean runs his tongue along Sam's kiss swollen lips, he's muttering protests, denials, "We can't....It's wrong, this has to stop."

Sam reaches his free hand between them and palms Dean's cock through denim, "Tell me this" he grinds the heel of his hand down hard "Is wrong!"

Panting, eyes watering with the sensations Sam's creating, Dean shakes his head and tries to lean up and away, "Sammy, I can't...we're meant to....shit Sam I'm meant to look after you, take care of you."

Sam stops dry humping Dean with his hand, pops the button on his own jeans and wriggles them down his legs enough to free his full and twitching cock.

In a move John Winchester himself would've been proud of, Sam twists their wrists, locks his knees and flips Dean onto his back. Kneeling above his brother, hair looking like he's already been fucked six ways from Sunday, eyes pleading with Dean to not let his own morality ruin this, Sam pulls their cuffed hands to his crotch, wraps fingers round the base of his cock and twists, "Take care of this...Please, Dean...I'm sick of lying, sick of pretending"

Dean can't help it, Sam looks glorious. Eye's never leaving Dean's, back arching on every downward stroke. Dean's mouth is watering, his own cock is rubbing painfully inside his jeans and he just can't bring himself to end this. Not when he can see pre-cum gathering on the head of Sam's impressive looking dick.

He twists his wrist round, there's just enough length to the chain to lace his finger's over Sam's.

Together, they pump their fists and bring Sam almost all the way to orgasm before Sam forces both their hands to still, "No, not like this. Want you inside me"

They haven't even considered un cuffing there hands. It's as if they can't bring themselves to remove that tangible and solid contact between them.

Sam reaches over and slowly undoes Dean's jeans, nudges a leg against Dean's side and helps him shove the offending piece of clothing down. Dean takes over with his trousers while Sam goes to work on his boots.

It takes less than a minute but Dean is naked from the waist down and Sam takes a deep breath before bending and wrapping his lips round the tip of his brother's seeping cock.

"Fuck! Sam...Oh god, I...we need to."

As always, despite the lack of coherence, Sam knows exactly what his brother wants, needs. He pulls gently with their joined hands, gets Dean onto his knees then twists round, exposing his bare ass to his brother.

Dean slides up close to his brother's back, pulls their hands over Sam's head and wraps both their arms round his waist. Splaying his fingers against Sam's back, he pushes until Sam's on all fours, "We haven't got anything...I mean."

Sam arches his back, presses his ass into his brother's cock and groans, "Don't care....gonna hurt anyway, just, please..."

Using Sam's back as support, his leans over, balances against his shoulder blades and runs two fingers along Sam's bottom lip, "Suck!"

Sam's hot mouth engulfs Dean's fingers and he hollows his cheeks, sucking as hard as he can while laving the fingers with his tongue.

The feel of Sam's teeth and tongue on Dean's fingers does awesome things to his nervous system. He almost overbalances them both when Sam bites down, hard, "Jesus Sammy, fucking tease."

Withdrawing his hand, fingers dripping, he pumps his fist round his own cock for a couple of seconds, gathering a palm full of the seeping liquid drizzling down between his balls.

He runs one finger along Sam's hole and feels his brother's knees shake against the concrete and his thighs, "Hold on, need you ready."

Sam grunts and tries to dig his nails into the floor to keep himself upright. Pushing onto his brothers fingers, pleading without saying a word.

Dean's got one finger all the way inside Sam, cupping his ass in his palm. Understanding Sam's need, he withdraws and starts gently working another finger inside, scissoring them, not knowing exactly what he should do, but knowing he doesn't want to hurt his baby brother anymore than necessary.

Sam is practically fucking Dean's hand, "God, Dean...please."

"One more Sammy, hold up, can't hurt you, won't..."

Finally, fucking finally, Sam can feel all three of Dean's fingers working him from the inside and the fullness is bliss. He knows, somewhere up in that big brain of his, that Dean needs to open him up but he's well passed caring about any pain. He can't keep still, he's bucking his hips, fucking Dean's fingers, bearing down hard, tight ring of muscles twitching and squeezing, "Dean, need you inside, please...not enough, not...Oh god."

Dean withdraws his hand and Sam keens, tries to follow the contact backwards.

Threading their joined hands together, slotting his fingers between Sam's, he presses them against Sam's stomach to steady him, guiding his cock to rest at his opening, he grips Sam's hip and squeezes, "Ready?"

"Always!"

"Slut."

"Dean!...Come on..."

Chuckling, Dean starts thrusting his hips, gentle little stabs, working the tip of his cock inside Sam.

Dean's eyes cross and Sam almost hits the deck.

Dean's balls deep, thighs braced against the backs of Sam's legs.

"Holy fuck!"

"Fucking hell."

When he's sure he's not just gonna shoot his load like a horny teen, Dean starts to move. Slow, deliberate strokes. Not too hard, just enough weight to shunt Sam across the floor every time his hips bang solidly into Sam's ass.

Sam throws his head back, grinds his hips, twists himself on Dean's cock and notes, with no little amount of satisfaction, that Dean is having just as much trouble staying upright as him.

"Faster, Dean...please."

Dean digs his nails into Sam's hip, "Don't wanna hurt you baby boy."

Sam doesn't beg, he's not gonna start this thing off on the wrong foot. This'll be just as equal as everything else they do. Instead, he rears up on his knees, slams his back into deans chest, pulls their joined hands down to his cock and starts jerking himself off whilst riding his brother.

Using Dean's thighs as leverage his pulls himself almost all the way off of Dean, so just his tip is nestled inside and then slams back down, almost toppling them backwards.

Dean groans, low menacing, feral.

He's done being nice, the need to cum is overwhelming. He can feel that tight little ring of muscles squeezing him from base to tip every time Sam heaves himself upwards.

Shoving his free hand into Sam's hair, he yanks his brother's head to the side and latches onto his throat before pumping up into him with as much force as he can, "Gonna cum Sammy...."

Rutting like animals, Sam twisting and writhing on Dean's cock, Dean sucking so hard on Sam's throat there's bound to be a mark, hands pumping Sam's cock fast and hard, Sam falls first, reams of hot sticky cum shooting out and over their joined hands.

As Sam cums, hard, his muscles tighten and drag the most ball tingling orgasm out of Dean, he empties himself inside Sam who's still pistoning his hips, ringing every last drop from his brother.

Shaking and spent, Dean shoves Sam forward onto his knees and they collapse, cuffed hands trapped beneath them, panting and sweaty and light headed.

They lay like that for what seems like forever, Sam's legs tangled in Dean's, heaving for breath and trying not to over think the situation.

Dean gives first, over active brain kicking back in as soon as he can think straight, "Sammy, I..."

Sam feels Dean trying to shift away from him and retrieves the forgotten about key off the floor, "Look man, I'm not un cuffing us until you promise me something."

Raising an eyebrow, dean cocks his head and wiggles his fingers in a 'come on' gesture.

"This" he wafts his hand at the sweaty mess they are "Whatever it is, it's done. I am not running. Neither are you."

Dean makes a grab for the key and Sam holds his stupidly long arm out of reach, "Come on Sam, this is...let me out."

Sam rolls into his brother's side, "No. Tell me this wasn't the best fuck you've ever had! Tell me you haven't wanted this for as long as I have. 'Cos I'm here to tell you, as much as that prick might keep getting one over on us, he's right. I've been wanting, this....you, for the last four fucking years. Probably even before that. Why do you think I took off to Stanford!"

Dean shakes his head, closes his eyes and lays his forehead against Sam's, "But...I'm meant to..it's my job to look out for you. This is fucked up Sammy."

Sam leans in and kisses Dean, gentle, chaste, "Because we've always been the picture of a perfect family unit! Huh! I'll let you out, long as you promise not to run. I know you, you'll shut down and it'll be like dragging nails down a chalk board just to get you to look at me."

Dean shy's away, rolls onto his back and shuts his eyes, "What about, look Sammy, I'll admit, I've been staring at your ass for the last god knows how long wishing I could sink my teeth in, doesn't mean it's right. We're brothers for fuck sake!"

Sam's voice is so small, so hurt that Dean wants to punch himself in the face, "De..." if he'd been stood, the childhood nickname would've knocked him on his ass.

Sam'd only ever used that when he was really hurting, really needed his brother to listen. So, instead of hiding behind a wall of bull crap, Dean leans up on his elbow and looks Sam square in the face, "Yea Sammy."

Sam reaches up, cups Dean's face in one big calloused hand, "When you...I know how fucked up we are, but when you...when you died, when I couldn't drag your stubborn butt out of hell, when I laid there at night crying and drinking and throwing myself into the beginnings of alcoholism, I finally figured it out. Came to terms with the fact that I'm a screw up who's....Oh god. Who's in bloody love with his bloody brother alright!"

Despite all his best efforts, hearing Sam actually say the words, out loud, not in his imagination or in some ridiculously hot dream, Dean's resolve crumbles. He's never been able to say no to Sam, been able to live without him in some way. Wasn't that why he'd sold his soul in the first place. The thought of carrying on without him, "Okay Sam. Okay. We'll try, not promising anything, but we'll try."

The answering smile his baby brother gives him is almost worth the one way ticket they've probably just both booked downstairs.

Finally unlocking the cuffs, they scrabble to find Dean's missing clothes and get feeling back in their wrists.

Once they've found there way back to street level and Dean's assured himself that the Trickster hasn't fucked with his baby, they climb inside the car, "So, 'spose we better go kill that jackass, huh?"

Dean shakes his head, revs the engine and flicks on a bit of Led Zep, "Nah, he's probably long gone. We'll catch him next time. Anyway, I kinda wanna get you back to a bed, somewhere I'm not gonna rip the shit out of my knees when I bend you over."

Sam's eyes darken and he smirks, "Who says you're bending me anywhere Dean. Think it's my turn, don't you!"

"Just love it when you go all manly and forceful Sammy."

"Fuck you, Dean"

"Buy me dinner first."  



End file.
